


The Flames

by Megalovanilize



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Avariel elf, Church of the Silver Flame, Elves, Original Character(s), Religion, Wingfic, Wings, i promise my writing is better than my tag system, lmao what do I even tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 03:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18357524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalovanilize/pseuds/Megalovanilize
Summary: Sylas Delacour, the Angel Of Death. The last true Avariel Elf. The last with his wings still attached, that is. I wonder why no one asks how that happened.





	The Flames

Smoke was all he could see. Black and cloying, it pushed down his throat and into his eyes until he was left tearing blindly through the forest. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he just knew he had to get away. Away from those horrible humans in their white robes, paler than moonlight, paler than bones, paler than the tips of his feathers. He could still almost taste their magic, metallic and ashy, even if he’d managed to slip out just in time. They were still after him, he knew it, they would never let him leave. The god they worshipped was not one for mercy. He could still hear their chants through the trees, united and determined, as his people were screaming, rounded up, slaughtered-

Praying to any god still listening, Sylas ran. 

Through the pandemonium of the invasion, he managed to hear a creaking snap of a burning tree- how had the fire already spread this far?- just as it began to fall. His wings snapped open and he launched himself back out of the way, nearly singeing his primaries as they carried him away from the dry wood. The off-balance take off was hell for his disoriented state, and he only managed to stay airborne for a few seconds before staggering back onto the ground. Quickly glancing up into the canopy, squinting through the smog, he saw again no chance of escape. The branches were too thick, he’d never make it through. If he could just find a clearing-

Sylas’ head whipped back around at the sound of voices. Too guttural to be Auran or Elvish, it must be them. They weren’t too close yet, and if his vision was obscured like this then they couldn’t be doing much better. Taking a breath, willing himself not to let out hacking coughs at the unnatural air, he kept going. His wings propelled him over the few fallen logs, feathers catching on the underbrush as he ran. The sensation of feathers tearing off hurt like hell, but he didn’t dare stop, certain they were still behind him. As their voices faded, his legs burned, weighing him down, slowing him further and further until he was forced to collapse against a nearby maple. He rested his head back against the bark, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the more familiar sensation help to ground him in his dizziness. Gasping for breath, he slid down the smooth trunk, clutching hard at the material of his cloak. The air rasped in his throat, scratching against his windpipe in a feeling he imagined would be akin to swallowing sand. He pulled his wings in tightly, trying to compress himself as much as possible. Maybe if he just stayed down here for a few minutes-

No. Everyone else would come to get him. His friends, his instructors, his mom and dad, they had to be ok. They had to be. He would find a city, and he would stay put until they found him. It couldn’t take long. The ones who were taken captive had to already have started a plan to escape, to get back to him. He scrubbed at his eyes, attempting to rid them of any remaining smog before continuing. He had a plan. Everything would be fine. He just had to get up and go. Pushing himself up off the ground, Sylas wobbled for a moment before setting his feet, focusing his eyes, and scanning his surroundings. The environment wasn’t making it any easier, but he could see the forest had gradually thinned out. Now if he could just find a place to take off, he could get out. 

He heard the smooth sound of the arrow just moments before it embedded itself into the tree inches from his head. Instinctively, he swung around, throwing himself away from the tree and sprinting away from his hunters. Even through his pulse was pounding in his head, their words rang inside his ears.

“Dammit, you missed!”

“Yea no shit, the kid’s harder to hit than he looks.”

“Whatever, just aim for the wings next time. He’s too young to be useful, we can just take them and go. If we ground him, he’s dead meat.”

His adrenaline was the only thing keeping Sylas from stopping cold in his tracks. Take his wings? He’d thought they just planned on killing them, but by the Seldarine, this was a different level. They couldn’t take his wings from him, he wouldn’t let it happen. Dodging between trees, he frantically scanned his surroundings for any escape. The brush was still thinning, more light hitting the ground through the canopy. Not quite a big enough gap yet, but he was close, he could feel it. Another arrow whizzed past, sailing over his shoulder and pushing him at breakneck speed over roots and shrubs. A third projectile- a knife this time- managed to graze him, slicing a shallow cut on the outside of his wing. The shock of the injury almost caused him to stumble, drawing his eyes down to his feet to watch where he stepped, but he managed to catch himself before the fall. Finally, as he lifted his head, his eyes landed on a patch of golden light streaming down through the trees. An escape. He forced his screaming muscles forward just a little further, already able to smell the fresh wind, feel the wind in his feathers, see the blue sky. Just a few more steps, and he finally burst through the foliage into a small glade. He could make it.

Keeping his speed, Sylas snapped open his wings, already flapping to gain more momentum, using the last of the strength in his legs to force himself off the ground. He wings beat furiously, not finding any wind currents in the dead heat of the burning forest, but he was gaining height. He was almost there, just a little further and he’d make it. Sylas finally let the hope that he’d make it out blossom in his chest, clearing the canopy just as a man in white robes burst through the trees. Too soon, his heart dropped. Cold fear almost locked his wings, but just as the man nocked the arrow, a current of air pooled under his feathers, propelling him up into the blue. The breeze moved Sylas fast enough that the projectile shot off into the distant trees, missing its target entirely. The man cursed and struggled for another weapon, but by the time he procured it the elf was long gone. He was flying at full speed away from the woodland that used to be his home, consisting now of only fire and smoke. Looking back at the rubble was almost too much to bare, so he fixed his gaze forward and soared into the blue. There was another elvish city somewhere in the forest, he just had to find it. Maybe they could help him until the rest of his kind escaped. 

IF they escaped, his brain reminded him. They could die there without you. Why would you run while they were all being butchered?

No. This was no time for guilt. Sylas forced himself to believe that the rest of the Avariel would be fine without him. That they would come back for him. He would get stronger, and once they were reunited they could pay back the Church of the Silver Flame for the destruction of their home.

They would be back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all, thanks for reading! I really appreciate your support, and it would be awesome if you left a comment down below telling me what you think! 
> 
> And no, they never came back.


End file.
